Breaking Noah

by Missy Johnson

  My heart is pounding as my mind processes every little detail of the last few months of her life. Tiny little things begin to fall into place.

  It wasn’t ever Noah. It’d been Dillon all along. How could I have been so stupid? My gut’s usually right about people, something that Karly and I both shared, and from the moment I met Noah, I knew it couldn’t have been him who had hurt Karly. I’ve been treating him terribly for no reason. Giving myself excuses to tear him apart, rip down his walls, only so I could get some sort of half-assed revenge on a man who didn’t deserve it. I feel like I’m going to vomit. All this time…I could have been getting to know him and falling in love with him like normal people do, but instead I was fighting every feeling I had, making him out to be some sort of monster in my mind.

  The bile in my stomach lurches up my throat and threatens to spill. Swallowing it down, I square my shoulders and raise my eyes to meet Heather’s. “Karly was sleeping with Dillon,” I say, a statement more than a question, still trying to wrap my head around all of this.

  “Yes,” she whispers. “They had left a party one night, both pretty lit, and ended up sleeping together. She was a wreck. Karly loved you so much. She talked about you all the time, and the thought of hurting you over one stupid mistake…she couldn’t. I sat up with her that night and came to the conclusion that she would make sure it never happened again.”

  “But it did.” I start telling the story. Trying to place Karly’s mood during the months before her death. The way she acted. How she treated me. It makes sense. There’s no way this could be a lie.

  “Dillon basically told her that if they didn’t keep their relationship going, he was going to break up with you and out his affair to you, not to clear the air, but to purposefully hurt you. He’s an asshole and she fell into his trap. Only, when she found out she was pregnant, shit really hit the fan.”

  How could she have kept this from me? I know it would have been hard for her to flat-out tell me that she was having sex with my boyfriend, but it wasn’t something we couldn’t get over. We were family. Blood.

  “He threatened her?” I ask, remembering something she had said in her last note to me.

  “He did. I’m not sure if it was if she kept the baby, he was going to ruin her, or if she got an abortion, he’d tell you anyway. I think she was just in a really hard spot and didn’t know what else to do.” I nod, agreeing, but still so angry that she didn’t come to me. I’m the reason she’s dead. She didn’t want to hurt me.

  “Now, you mentioned Noah. Are you talking about Professor Bain?” she asks, drawing me out of my pity party.

  “Yes. She told me she was having an affair with her lit professor and things went sideways. Thinking back to conversations we had over the year, I put two and two together.” Heather cocks her head, smiling softly.

  “Professor Bain’s the nicest teacher on campus. Karly had him first term and they got pretty close. Not like creepy close, but she could confide in him. I think she even told him about what was going on with Dillon. He’d never cross the line with a student like that. Some others might, but never Mr. Bain.” He had crossed the line with me, but only because I’d forced it on him. Excusing myself, I run for the bathroom, as I’m unable to swallow the bile down any longer. After releasing the contents of my stomach, I sit on the cool white tile and try to process what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks.

  I’ve taken a man who was dedicated to his career and turned him into a creep. Treated him unfairly because of what I assumed to be true. And to put the icing on the cake, I’ve been sharing an apartment and a bed with the man who’s truly to blame for Karly’s going off the deep end.

  My stomach recoils again and I finish purging whatever’s left inside. After cleaning my face, I walk back into the dining room and thank Heather for the talk. She hugs me tightly and lets me leave without any further explanation.

  She already knows how terrible I feel and that I need to figure out how to confront Dillon about this. It might be in my best interest to pack my things and move out while he’s away. After I tell Noah what’s been going on, I’m sure he’ll want nothing to do with me, so it’s back home to Ohio I go.

  I park my car on the street and walk up the driveway. I’m numb. I have no idea what to think, or how to feel. I can’t handle this. How could they do this to me? Dillon, I understand, but Karly…She was like a sister to me. I would’ve done anything for her. Fuck, I’ve spent the last year meticulously plotting revenge against the man responsible—the man who I thought was responsible for her death. But after everything, how could Dillon let me move here and be with him knowing what he had done to her? None of it makes sense, yet it’s crystal clear.

  Noah. God, what have I done?

  Shoving my key in the lock, my hand shakes as I fumble to get it open. Once the deadbolt is unlocked I still have to worry about the handle. Finally, after nearly a minute and a half of trying, I force the door open, only to see Dillon sitting at the dining room table. My Mac in prime view, but it’s the USB drive…my USB drive…plugged into the side that has my heart racing.

  I stop dead in my tracks, my gaze falling on the side of the computer. He couldn’t have found it. I hid it. Very well, I might add. He’d have to know he was looking for something in order to find it. Unless he knew all along. At this point, I’m putting nothing past him.

  “Seriously, Zara, under the carpet? That’s like fucking Burglar 101. I thought you were smarter than that. But I have to hand it to you, this whole plan you’ve hatched is pretty damn impressive. I love how committed you are to the things you’re passionate about.” His dark, angry brown eyes narrow, sending a shiver down my spine. “Too bad you were never this passionate about us.”

  “Us?” I laugh. Is he serious? “You think I don’t know you’re with a different skank every weekend? You fucked my cousin behind my back. You got her pregnant, Dillon. She killed herself because of you.”

  “She killed herself because she couldn’t handle what she’d done to you, Zara,” he scoffs. “If you want to point fingers, then you’re the reason she offed herself, not me. I offered to pay for an abortion. You’d never have found out, but no. She couldn’t do it. She took the easy way out.”

  “You threatened her, you asshole. Don’t think I don’t fucking know what—”

  “Are you falling in love with him?” he interrupts.

  “What?” Being caught off guard is never a good thing for me. Word vomit mixed with my temper—things are about to get really ugly.

  “Bain. You’re in love with him, aren’t you? You think he’s going to want you after he discovers that you set out to ruin him?” He laughs. “God, you’re as clueless as your cousin. What was the plan? What were you planning on doing with your little performance, anyway?”

  I step forward and snatch the USB from the laptop, my face heating up. He laughs and shuts the screen, undeterred by my behavior. I rub my sweaty palms against the legs of my jeans, my heart pounding. I need to destroy this before he does anything. Dropping the drive to the floor, I stomp on it, feeling a little bit of pride as I watch the plastic shatter under my weight and pieces fly across the dining room. My eyes meet his and I see a flicker of amusement. I’m uneasy. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m already too late.

  “You’re not shy, are you, Zara? Now’s not the time to be feeling bashful. You’ll be famous tomorrow. They say a good sex tape can launch anyone’s career, right?”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. He didn’t…

  “As of about forty-five seconds ago, every single person—students and alumni—in the Northwestern email system just received your little show.”

  Oh God, no.

  Chapter 24

  Noah

  The incessant pounding on the front door pulls me from a deep slumber. Well, as deep as it can be with my phone ringing off the hook for the last few hours. Somewhere around seven in the morning, I turned the ringer off, and when I felt like the phone was g
oing to vibrate its way off the nightstand, I powered it down completely.

  “Coming. Give me a minute!” I scream to whoever thinks eight-fifteen is an appropriate time to be woken up on a Saturday morning. I, for one, think it’s extremely rude. I didn’t have the greatest night. After Zara left, I felt kind of depressed, not knowing if she’d be back or if our relationship was done, so I did the only thing I could think of. I sat my sad ass on the couch and proceeded to down nearly a bottle of the finest bottom-shelf vodka I could find. The raging headache I’m experiencing believes that the knocking offender is due for a piece of my mind.

  More banging, only louder and harder this time. “Shit,” I mumble to myself, stumbling into a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. I grab a T-shirt from the drawer and walk to the door as I pull it over my head. When I approach, I move the shutter, looking out the peephole, surprised to find it’s my boss standing on the other side, and she doesn’t look excited to be awake and pounding on my door this early, either.

  Slightly cracking the door, I peer out into the hallway to see if anyone else is joining her on this unscheduled, out-of-the-ordinary visit. “Good morning, Dean Calloway. How can I help you?”

  Before I can blink, she’s pushed herself into my apartment. Sarcastically, I wave my arm wide, inviting her inside. “Please, come in,” I mutter. Her head whips in my direction, eyes cold as ice, and she offers a tight-lipped smile.

  “I’m glad to see you’re in good spirits, Noah. I can only assume you’ve not checked your email yet.”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t. I find it customary on non-work days to get as much extra sleep as possible, as you can tell by my just-woken glow,” I quip, quickly wishing I hadn’t, but what’s done is done, right?

  “Why don’t you have a seat so we can discuss a game plan? We’re going to need to get ahead of this. I wouldn’t be surprised if the news crews and reporters are already champing at the bit to get a piece of you. Now really isn’t the time to try to be funny.”

  Running my hand over the stubble on my jawline, I stare at her, asking for a little more to go on. I’m not sure what’s happening, but if reporters are going to want to get at me, I’m guessing it’s nothing good. Nothing good at all.

  “Karen, can you at least tell me what it is we’re trying to get ahead of? And why people would want to talk to me? I have to admit, you’ve got me at a loss. I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

  “At one-forty-two this morning, an email was sent to myself, as well as the rest of the faculty. Also in receipt of this message were the entire student body, alumni…pretty much anyone with a Northwestern email address. The sender was a student of yours, a Ms. Zara Hamilton,” she explains, and my stomach drops.

  She told.

  Not just that she turned me in for improper conduct with a student to my boss, but told everyone she could about our relationship. It’s not illegal by any means, but the implications that I’m her superior—a person with certain controls over her anyway—makes the situation that much worse. Had she not been my student, just an attending student, it would have made a world of difference. This is so much worse. I’m going to lose my job.

  “Dean, I can explain our relationship. Ms. Hamilton and I did participate in a sexual relationship, but I can assure you that no special treatment was given to Zara since our relationship began. With the exception of our encounters, I’ve been professional….” I sound like I’m already admitting guilt and should probably wait for an attorney, but the overwhelming need to defend myself is overriding that notion.

  “Noah, I don’t need you to explain anything. It’s all pretty clear in the video.”

  “Video?” I choke. Zara videotaped us? She couldn’t have. Wouldn’t have.

  “Yes, video. It appears that Ms. Hamilton recorded one of your encounters and that’s what she sent in the message to our entire network. It was quite uncomfortable to watch. I’m sure you can see why we need to get ahead of this. How this can impact the university. We need a game plan, Noah. I need you to tell me everything that happened during your relationship with the student.”

  Before I can divulge anything, I need to see this video. “I’ll be right back,” I inform Karen, rushing back to my bedroom. I find my phone in the same place I left it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I power up the device and wait for the notifications to filter through. What seems like an eternity later, the email icon shows at the top of my phone. Opening it, my heart races as I wait for the email to load, assuming the video is so large, it needs the extra few seconds.

  There’s nothing written in the subject line and no text in the body, just a small icon at the bottom showing a video is attached. Also, it did come from Zara’s school-appointed email address. There’s no disputing the fact that she sent it.

  I press the screen and the video loads. I should have connected to my home Wi-Fi before I began so there wasn’t as much lag time. The buffering is going to be the death of me. The screen illuminates, but there’s nothing to be seen, just some muffled voices in the background. Then it starts.

  A few minutes in, the scenery changes and the voices become more clear, as if Zara had pulled the phone out of her bag and set it up, facing me, sitting on the sofa in my apartment. Judging by my clothes, this was the night that Zara told me how upset she was about Dillon’s activities and how she may or may not be clean.

  Fuck.

  As the video plays, I can recall each and every detail of this encounter. It’s only going to get worse. Here I was, thinking I was being sexy and demanding, and all the while, Zara was playing right into it. Not because she thought it was hot and couldn’t wait to get a piece of me, but because she had an ulterior motive. One that was to get me fired and all my credibility lost.

  On the small screen of my phone, I watch Zara climb off the couch where I was just performing oral sex, loving every minute of it. Enjoying her coming apart in my arms and holding her limp body against my face as I savored every last second. This was one of the best memories I had of her, now tainted by the video she’s using to destroy me.

  It’s what happens next—what I knew was going to happen as soon as I realized what was actually happening—that has me wanting to run to the bathroom.

  “And to think, I’m not even done with you yet,” I tell her, as she steps off the couch. I wasn’t done with her. I just had a taste and I wanted so much more.

  “Shit. I don’t know if I can take it, but I’ll give it a good old college try,” she jokes. God, she was so sexy with her after-orgasm glow, making me want her more than I already did. I’d never been so hard in my life, and all I wanted to do was bury myself so deep inside of her.

  “College, you say? Sounds good to me. There’ll be no more of this Noah stuff, Ms. Hamilton. As your professor, you should refer to me as Mr. Bain. It’s only fair to the other students.” I was all too confident. Thinking she wanted to play out some kind of fantasy. Figured she was game. And the thought of being in complete control of her did things to me that I had never experienced before. I wanted to dominate her. Needed to control her.

  “What?” I thought she was confused, but it all appears so clear now. This was just a way for her to lure me into her trap. She planned on me seeking out her submissive side, and instead of her worrying about me exploiting her, it was the exact opposite.

  “Ms. Hamilton. You know the rules. If you’re still looking for that extra-credit assignment, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” How could I have been so stupid? How could I have given her the upper hand like this? If this went out to everyone in the Northwestern database, it’s not going to be long before my parents see this email. They already think I’m a huge fuckup; this isn’t going to do anything to help my case. I’m so fucked.

  “I’m ready for my assignment, Mr. Bain.” You most certainly were, weren’t you, Ms. Hamilton? I think to myself. She played me. She’s going to win.

  Who am I kidding? She’s already won. I can’t combat this video. The evidence ag
ainst me is compelling. I should just hand in my resignation, effective immediately, possibly save the university some legal bills and a public shaming.

  Throwing my phone across the bedroom as if it’s going to delete the evidence, I retreat to the living room. Dean Calloway’s sitting on the couch, phone open, fingers moving like they’re on speed. “I don’t know what to do here, Noah,” she says, eyes still glued to the screen of her phone.

  “I don’t, either. Tell me what I can do to fix this. I’ll do anything.” She briefly looks up from her phone, studies me for a moment before she redirects her attention to whatever she’s doing on that thing. “I need you to talk to me. Stop with the texting. Let’s figure this out. Please. It’s my career and reputation on the line.”

  “Noah,” she says with force, “I’m trying to figure that out. The board is emailing, they want you to resign, effective immediately. I’m working on getting them to settle for administrative leave instead. You standing, hovering over me, asking a million questions, isn’t going to help.”

  She’s right. Nothing I do right now is going to fix the situation. I need to be patient and let her guide me. I also need to stay as far away from Zara as I can get. Stepping into the kitchen, I brew a pot of coffee, expecting this to be an all-morning ordeal, and going out for a cup just doesn’t seem too appealing. The whole town will most likely be running my name through the mud.

  Oh, God, my parents. My father’s a Northwestern alumnus. He got the email. I can’t even think about that right now. As I’m mixing in the creamer, another knock sounds at the door. I debate not answering, but the way my day’s going, it can’t possibly get any worse.

  I head into the front room, in no rush to get more bad news, when another knock rings out. “Noah, it’s me. Please open. There’s something I have to tell you. Please.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I stand at the door, watching Dean Calloway watch me, and debate what I’m going to do: allow Zara to come in and explain what the fuck her problem is while airing all of our dirty laundry in front of the dean or ignore her.